Forest Spirits
Marpenoth 23, 500 DR The North Starwood, Cormanthor Four intrepid adventurers, accompanied by two Rings of akf'faern and their three officers, trekked through the woods of Cormanthor silently. Though they numbered fifteen, their path might only have been noticed as much as that of a single human, despite being mounted and forced to travel by land so as to bring their supplies. Their leader, Josidiah Starym, doubted the horses would last much longer. These woods were thick, and meandering through navigable routes just to keep them would mean it would take his promised century just to reach the Twisted Tower. He had known this before leaving, but had decided that it was worth the effort. At worst, they would take what they could and cut the mares loose; these were elven-trained, after all, some of the wisest mounts this side of Toril. They knew the way home. The bladesinger took a few quick steps ahead of the group, climbing a fallen shadowtop tree to peer through the endless cedars that marked the southern edges of this section of the wood. From here, they would soon enter the Midwoods and seek out the River Ashaba, which they would follow west to the Tower. If only they could get the steeds through these gullies... Something pricked the Starym heir's senses to the left. His keen eyes searched the thicket and then the branches above, but saw nothing except foliage. A great shadowtop, whose trunk was wide enough that his entire company could not touch hands around it, blocked much of his view, and he knew better to take any risks. He retreated to the ground level and slithered back to his group. Aribaeth Llundlar, the first to notice Josidiah's concerned stare, sent her eyes to the trees and signaled those behind her to be vigilant. Almost instantly, the akh'faer dispersed like ghosts, taking up formations around the party and seeking any interlopers. Aribaeth looked to Josidiah for quidance. "What is it, lord?" the half-elf asked. "Movement in the bushes to the south," he replied. "Take the others in that direction and circle back to pin anyone against the Rings." The young priestess nodded, pointing to the west. "Mystra bless you," she whispered and silently stalked away from him, clutching her staff in her hands. Josidiah nodded to her and went south after the disturbance. Something tingled his sense of danger, but it was very different. He had been on countless ventures into the woods before and had stalked and been stalked by a number of fearsome enemies in his days. The creeping feeling of trouble was an ever-present emotion for him, but today he was disturbed by whatever was out there. He felt the magic of Cormanthor everywhere around this place, and it was as though the trees were watching his every move to see how he reacted. The bladesinger caught sight of Elspeth Nightstar, the Faernil of the akh'faer. She nodded her readiness to the east, where he could not see, but whose presence he was certain of, the militant wizards of her Rings. He signaled her to be patient. Something was different. He sighed inwardly; it had only been a day since he had left the spiralling towers of Myth Drannor, and already he was having another adventure. Maybe he was too old for this. The bushes rustled again, and Josidiah caught sight of a figure disappear behind a nearby tree. He sidestepped lithely to round it on the opposite side, but nothing greeted him there. Silence befell the area. Elspeth watched, and now he saw Aribaeth opposite her. They remained alert, but he knew it was over. Whatever was here, was now gone. The gold elf sighed, waving off the attack and moving towards Aribaeth. "What did you see, lord?" the half-elf asked. "Spirits of the Forest. As always, my friend, we are never alone out here," he replied. Aribaeth smiled. "Let us keep on then," and she turned and continued in the direction they had been going. Josidiah looked back one last time to the tree where the figure had disappeared. He ran his hand along the bark, and it felt warm, like a living creature. He traced his long, slender fingers round the trunk to a lone branch down at this level. It was curiously shaped almost like an elven arm, extending out as if to point. He followed the branch's gesture to a narrow passage in the trees that descended down over a soft moss meadow that easily crossed the gully ahead. The horses would make that trip. Josidiah smiled. These old woods would never cease to captivate him. Category:Background Stories